Quest Motivation I will probe and prod Tavāya Aulē's buttons until he gives away the information he is concealing.

Party Motivation I'll need to assemble a crack team to assist me on this mission. Hopefully they'll have a sense of humor, and maybe a quarter of a brain between them.

Campaign Motivation If Malak Ta'us can transcend his mortal shell and verily become a god through brilliance and scholarly training then so, too, shall I. Moustache and all.

Instincts:

Always pays close attention to any hints of personal drives/buttons of any new person (and keeps a mental list of said buttons for people he knows)

Always picks up spent ammo or other objects set down. (As a poor nomad, his mama taught him "Waste not, want not!")

Always attempts to hear/comprehend any message spoken, written, or whispered in such a way as to seem intentionally secret.

Personality Traits:

Outlook Confident (arrogant), easily bored, but optimistic about the future.
Integrity Industrious. When watched by superiors, he never disobeys explicit rules. When left to his own, he tends to follow the spirit of the rule (as long as it seems worthwhile), if not the letter of the law.
Impulsiveness Creative, inventive, curious & unpredictable.
Boldness Confident, very sure of his intellect, but realistic & at peace about his physical shortcomings. (buh-duhm CHING)
Flexibility Very adaptable to changing situations, but less apt to allow people to force him to adapt.
Affinity For him, there are 2 kinds of people: interesting and boring. Even the boring ones can be greatly amusing if you find their buttons.
Comportment Mischievous, rebellious, but can be charming when the time is right. Seeks attention, approval and inclusion.
Interactivity talkative, charismatic, but a bit of a knave. Listens to others, but mainly to watch for cues on how to toy with them or manipulate them.
Disclosure Somewhat evasive about personal details, preferring to steer conversations toward others' details.
Conformity Rebellious, free-thinking.
Libido Below average.
Spirituality Toranindracar is not spiritual. He was raised with Belaran animism, but as he began to study at the Academy, he was struck by the story of Malak Ta'us, and soon became a follower. He idolized the concept of Malak Ta'us and sought to emulate him -- though this gave him a brief period of self-loathing, as he simply was not strongly motivated by altruism. Gradually, he came to feel that, as Malak Ta'us was once mortal but rose high, he was no more worthy of worship than, say, the Yazdan of Magus. And yet Malak Ta'us was every bit as much a god as Kalak. Wherefore if Malak Ta'us was not worthy of worship, then nor was Kalak, nor any other god. The power of each was within the grasp of one sufficiently ambitious, as Malak Ta'us showed, and perhaps there was no such thing as a "god" -- only a vast spectrum of beings, great and small, powerful and insignificant. Thus, Malak Ta'us has become more of a guide, his path pointing the way for Toranindracar toward power and greatness.
Habits/Quirks Fidgety. This comes out in the form of biting fingernails, tossing dice repeatedly against a wall, playing with a ring on his finger, flipping through papers to make noise, smoking his pipe, munching, etc.
Hobbies Games of chance (though he tries to research them until there is little chance of loss); games of strategy; games of the mind; cuisine (eating, not cooking).
Fears Large bodies of water.

Contacts:

Ana'ara a young, petite Dærini barmaid at a tavern near the gambling houses. Ana'ara wields a power over people rarely employed without magic. All either hate or love her, as she is intensely opinionated and manipulative, but also incredibly charismatic and genuinely fun. Her words are heeded and her commands followed, even by those who dislike her. Men want to be with her and women want to be her, and drama follows wherever she goes. Ana'ara seems to know everyone in Mtol Dærask who gambles or deals in illicit trade, and she knows a great many ladies of the night. Toranindracar and Ana'ara have had a slightly turbulent past, never having been truly together romantically (she tells herself he is too short, and he says she is too tall), but with complex feelings on either side. They see things similarly (despite her lack of philosophical training) and are close friends, who have often said they would do anything for each other. Finally, Ana'ara likes to paint, though few know it.

Mtiri an elderly Dærini man, craftsman and trader of fine jewelry, who also deals in black and grey market items. Mtiri fancies himself an amateur philosopher. He is well-read, having studied for two years at the Brotherhood Academy in his youth. On the downside, he is also a vile moral realist. Toranindracar met Mtiri years ago, doing business occasionally, but in the past two years Toranindracar has, now and then, shared with him a cup of tea and a fervent debate on the overlap between Ethics and Metaphysics.

Jalan a younger Dærini man who has been a frequent rival of Toranindracar's in the gambling houses, so much that eventually their rivalry grew friendly. Jalan has worked in several craft trades, quickly mastering the techniques but being unable to deal with the authority of his masters, so that in recent years he has resorted to random "odd jobs". Jalan is a genius, and his intelligence impressed Toranindracar, so that eventually Tor taught him some of his gambling knowledge - tips he had painstakingly worked out to virtually guarantee a certain degree of winnings in one particular game. Jalan would be loathe to admit it openly, but he is immensely grateful to Toranindracar (his finances have soared since learning from him), and Tor knows it.

Character History:

Childhood:

Toranindracar was born the only child of his litter, the youngest child (the older children having been born in more typical Tegan litters of 3 and 4) of his nomadic parents, who traveled the gypsy life of the caravaners. He carries a chip on his shoulders in the shape of the youngest-child syndrome; that is, he cannot stand to be left out of any secret or joke, and he feels entitled to get away with any mischief he finds himself in.

Banahandracar (Ban) was his oldest and strongest brother -- the only boy in his mother's first litter, 6 years older than Tor -- and as such he ruled their childhood games for as long as Tor could remember. Ban's two twin sisters (Freda and Bleda) were obsessed with dresses and jewels and make-believe stories, and had no more time for Tor's mewling complaints about Ban's tyranny than did Tor's mother.

The middle litter (4 years older than Tor) brought Ban three new brothers: Fordaran (Ford), Pelangetorix (Pel), and Harisandracar (Haris). While Tor was still a pink pup with closed eyes, these three formed the alliance that would set the stage for Tor's childhood: a league of brothers set against the unlawful tyranny of Ban. As Tor grew, he tried to impress them with mischievous deeds, and occasionally they noticed. As they grew older still, Ford (who had picked up the family trade first of his litter) was tasked with training Tor in the arts of appraisal, haggling, and misdirection. But the 4th child of the middle litter, the girl child Netta, was the one who found the scroll. She was the most skilled in unlawful procurement, but when she saw the arcane squiggles, she gladly traded it to Tor for a cheap amethyst.

By the time he was born, the role of each sibling was set, all under the hierarchy ruled by their father Turinalgorix (Turin). Turin trained Ban, Ford, Pel, and Haris until Ban was old enough to train the others himself, and when Ford showed his quality, he took over Tor's training.

Throughout this process, Tor learned quickly that whining got him nothing but bruises and sour looks. He began at the bottom of the heap, an unlucky single birth as the last of 8 children. But as the years went on, he earned their trust, deserved or not. When they told him a secret, he kept it -- or if he didn't, they never found out. Each one believed he was their personal agent, working for them alone, but in secret. He was their eyes and ears, but no one was privy to his own secrets, such as the progress he had made in deciphering Netta's scroll. At first, it was subconscious: it only felt natural to soothe this one and flatter that one, to praise the one and criticize the other, each according to their own weaknesses. Before long it was a conscious curiosity for him. And in time, it became an ongoing experiment in the nature of sentient beings.

Tor's constant desire for inside knowledge, coupled with his insatiable lust for knowledge about the world at large had gotten him in trouble on more than a few occasions, though his uncanny intellect allowed him to learn some important early lessons in how to avoid getting caught. After some basic training in the family trade, he accidentally displayed the ability to cast a minor cantrip. Having no interest in harboring a renegade arcanist (or worse, a bloody Mentalist may-they-be-purged-in-the-fires-of-the-Master), his family -- until now the most loyal of families -- gave him to the first Brotherhood Agent they found, to be taken away for training.

Tor was never one to dwell on the past, and he found quickly that nowhere in the wide world of Saemyyr could he better gain access to the secrets of the world than among the Brotherhood...

Brotherhood: Early Training:

For all Tor's childhood, the sum of his world was 10 people. Sometimes they would pass through a small city of men, but they were always through and gone by the next day; to Tor, such men were fauna, not people -- a mere curiosity.

So when Brother Alec of Disyát took Tor through the Gate at Timgad to appear in the mighty Citadel of Magus at Mtol Dærine, it was an eye-opening affair. Alec cautioned him often in those first few days to close his mouth for fear of lockjaw. A tower piercing the sky like a tunnel to the heavens. The crystalline Passwall and its painstakingly etched Tympanum. The clockwork Armillary Sphere. And millions of people -- thousands of whom were now his family -- many of whom were, like him, interested in questioning the world and plumbing its depths for knowledge. Family he had known before but friends, never. His love for the Brotherhood was born the moment he stepped out of that Gate.

Toranindracar's (for, indeed, he found that his familiar name, Tor, would not be at all sufficient in this new life) first friends were ill-matched for him, being randomly housed together. They were, by turns, too serious, too cautious, or too anxious. Instead, he poured himself into studies, which were new and thrilling, though there was little of magic to be learnt so early. The worst was the chores: he couldn't imagine a worse waste of his brilliance than scrubbing pots, and yet there he was several nights a week, scouring away. Still, he wondered if it made his class time all the sweeter.

Learning about Malak Ta'us, he found himself questioning his animist traditions, then abandoning them altogether. He had outgrown them, seeing the brilliance of a man turned god. A man who practiced magic in the very place Toranindracar called home. Malak Ta'us was everything he could look for in a god, and Toranindracar vowed to serve Malak Ta'us in prayer and deed. Well, more in prayer.

By the beginning of his Sarosh training, he had found some fellows he could call friends -- though many of them were less able to pile mischief on top of studies, so most of them fell behind in their classes bit by bit. Among the closest few: Cambrech, a pale, ginger Airgíallnese with a taste for liquor and well-endowed women; Valdérion, a Shalornian with connections to the seedier side of Mtol Dærine (he it was who introduced Toranindracar to the gambling houses); and Londraganimix (Lon), a fellow Belaran with his eyes set on the exploratory branch of the Order of Disyát. If the adage were true that there was always someone smarter and better than you, Lon was Toranindracar's model. Between the two of them, people were beginning to raise their estimations of tegans.

The first few months of his Sarosh days also saw the blossoming of his confidence in philosophy and the natural sciences. It seemed that all his observations from youth, all his thoughts and readings from his entire life had just been waiting for him to see the barest introduction to a wider array of classes, and suddenly perspective fell in place. He could remember the very first philosophical thought he had had as a young pup, traveling from one land to another -- that language forms the basis of perception, and that language is inextricable from culture. Now, with names being put to ideas he had long ago wondered at, he expanded this concept: experience forms the basis of perception, and experience is composed of all the categories used by a conscious mind to differentiate one experience from another: language, culture, sensory data, and the rudiments of perspective. And of course, one's perception decides everything one does, for everyone that exists. He happily joined Londraganimix's House Aratus, a bunch of students who, like him, saw the world in discrete wholes, each functioning according to its phenomenological states. They agreed that perspective is everything.

When it finally came, being trained in magic was a dream. The forces of the universe, at his beck and call. His teachers emphasized prudence, caution, and responsibility, and Toranindracar tempered that with the pursuit of knowledge. And by knowledge, he meant amusement.

The Adar-kevan Years:

The Sarosh years were the best, looking back. He still remembered the look on that strumpet's face when, after he had nearly talked her out of her skirts, his enlarge person spell wore off and he, cackling like one of the wee fay of Belaran legend, promptly bowed and disappeared in a flash of green smoke. How he and Lon had laughed! Or the time Cambrech passed out, trying to set a record for holding his breath by holding his face down in his best girl's bosom.

But when they donned the red robes of the Adar-kevan, they knew those days were numbered. Lon went to pursue an independent study in the Shadowlands and rarely visited the Citadel. Cambrech went to Airgíallne to study the use of compulsion magic under an expert Eresh member stationed in Timgad. (Tor visited him there on leave, and what a shock it was! How tiny and provincial the Chapterhouse!) Toranindracar's first independent study was in Human Behavior, for which he could find no better location than Mtol Dærine, so the group was down to Valdérion and himself. Much gambling was done, and Toranindracar became an expert in some of the more systematic of the games played in the city. Piles of coins poured into his hands and directly out again, as they spent lavishly on food and pipeweed.

Toranindracar was growing less and less inclined, day by day, to serve Malak Ta'us in worship. It wasn't that he had any less admiration for Malak Ta'us -- it was simply that the concept of one who is great worshipping one who was at one time perhaps of a similar greatness was becoming distasteful to him. Malak Ta'us was once mortal, like I am, he thought. He was a brilliant and talented arcanist, as I am, he thought. He rose to true greatness, and ascended to supposed godhood, as I may yet still do, he thought. He decided it made no sense to consider that some beings were mortals and some gods -- rather, there was a vast spectrum of entities in the world, each their own being and each with varying amounts of power. This meant that no fundamental difference was necessarily in play between himself and Malak Ta'us. And if Malak Ta'us can rise to equal status with the likes of Kalak or Tyvaard Votar, why should the likes of me worship any of them? Better to set my sights on emulating him -- treat him as a guide, not a god. And perhaps one day I, in turn, may rise to the same heights as he.

One night, fleeing the scene after hustling a few of the less gentle of gentlemen gamblers, Toranindracar, seeing a familiar barmaid coming home, ducked under her skirts and followed her in before she could argue. "No time. Please, hide me!" Amazingly, she did just that, and then succeeded in not only convincing the thugs the tegan was not there, but also in shaming them into going straight home, and never gambling again. Her name was Ana'ara, and she could have been Toranindracar's first love, had she been but two feet shorter. She was very petite for a human --not quite 5 feet tall -- but gorgeous, if a bit sharp-featured, and her movements oozed sensuality. But she was also brilliant, with a wit quick as lightning. The two became fast friends, each taking part in the sport of toying with the minds of men and women, and Toranindracar gradually saw that Ana'ara's contacts reached far and wide through the riffraff of Mtol Dærine.

Sometimes he wondered if Ana'ara were holding back from Tor -- if in fact she were a trained spy or undercover agent for some organization. Without a doubt, she had the skill for it, and she was well-informed. Valdérion fell for her at their first meeting but, as Tor could have told him instantly, he was hopelessly below her playing field. She barely waited for him to answer her questions whenever the three spent time together, choosing instead to move on to more interesting subjects or more dominant people. One drunken night, remembering the enlarge person gag, Tor cast the spell, and suddenly he seemed to be a man, several inches taller than she. For the briefest moment it seemed -- but aside from some hot-breath drunken tongueing, nothing happened, and after a few awkward days, their friendship was back to normal.

Cambrech and Lon returned, but there was a distance they hadn't felt before, and they both shipped out again soon after. Toranindracar decided some travel was in order, so he Gated to Voia in Airgíallne, then traveled overland through Torán and Gated from Qwayraith to Gnyr Shalorn, all the while studying the impacts of language on ontological perspectives and mythologies. He finished with a brief stop at Nerian, in Northern Wolœstra, but was only disappointed at how little he could discern when forced to use an interpreter.

Test of the Nine, and Mahrka:

Shortly after that was his Test of the Nine. He might have called it a taxing triumph, but for the tragedy. Six months later he still couldn't say for sure what happened, save that Cambrech was dead, and Toranindracar would bear scars on his arms for the rest of his life, constant reminders of that morning. Londraganimix had put off the Test for the time (thankfully for him), as he was still finishing his latest study in some Ashkanian tomb. Valdérion was there in the test, though, as were the Tarsequin Menalacor and Domani Kal'ishal, both of whom were familiar faces for years, but were never close to Toranindracar. Now they were bound by something fierce but silent, close but distant at the same time. By unspoken agreement, all went their separate ways, catching up only rarely and superficially from then on.

Ana'ara was the only one of his friends he could turn to without thinking of Cambrech, but she was occupied with some new plaything, 6 feet tall and hairy. So Tor spent his first few months under the Bonds of the Brotherhood largely as a loner. He took leave and played strangers at the gambling houses and actually saved some of his winnings. He humiliated himself buying an expensive gift for Ana'ara, and they spoke little for a while, but the situation was smoothed over a month later when she allowed herself to cry in front of him (she had fought with her man and denounced him, but had taken the worst possible interpretation of something he had said, then had a vision she would die alone, and dreamed that no one truly liked her). The balance between them, having been upset, was now restored.

Also at this time, Toranindracar found that a long-time contact, the jeweler (and fence) Mtiri dabbled in philosophy, and had studied at the Brotherhood Academy for 2 of his early years, until it became clear that his magical talents beyond detect magic were in fact nonexistent. Toranindracar spent some time with Mtiri, and found it was nice to have a friend who could speak intelligently, but without the connections to the Citadel, or the drama that followed Ana'ara like the perfume cloud after a whore. That said, Mtiri was a bloody moral realist may-they-be-purged-in-the-fires-of-the-Master, so Tor could only take him in small doses without putting a crossbow bolt in his own ear, understandably.

Once the thought of the Citadel no longer made him think of death, he began pursuing the Order of Mahrka in earnest. It was a clear choice. Only one order allowed him to fulfill his lifelong ambition straight out of training: reading other people's mail. With few distractions this time around, his progress was swift, his induction without incident, and his training straightforward and fascinating.

By now, Lon had entered the Order of Disyát as he had always hoped, and Valdérion must have joined Gætha -- Tor was fairly sure that was the plan, last time they had spoken.

Finally, Mahrka Ratush Navza'ar sent him to see a Ratush of Lux by the Tarsequin name of Avarius. Tor's first real mission for the Order of Mahrka would be a challenging one, but who could have predicted that it would dig up painful memories?